Cut-off howling...

The server that hosts my sites and (more importantly) my e-mail went down a couple of times yesterday. Nothing calamitous, it came back up again - only since then I have been unable to send e-mails. Receiving them is fine, but every time I try to send anything I just get "Your SMTP server does not support PLAIN. Choose a different authentication method" error messages - which is just plain nonsense, of course it supports PLAIN, it's been doing it for years.

And my guru is on holiday, and I feel - oh, isolated. Cut off. Voiceless. Obviously there is an irony in that - oh look, right here - but the people I need to be talking to don't necessarily read LJ, for all that I think it should be compulsory. Gah!

My eyes! My eyes!

TV-speak is invasive. This is not news, I know - but I keep looking at 'miseries' and reading it as 'miniseries'. Which keeps stalling me from moving on, just when I have a boy whose elbow is most painfully gripped by a stone hand (I turned someone into a pillar of basalt, which was bad of me, but hey, he was a builder...), and the poor boy really, really needs me to move on. That arm is swelling as we speak.

Bleahhh

One of you open-handed LJ-folks has been sharing your cold around. I know this, because I haven't spoken to an actual human person vector in days, not catching-close. And meanwhile you-all have been bragging about how awful your symptoms are. Well, as far as I'm concerned, you can have 'em back, y'know? Not wanted on voyage. 'Specially the chesty thing. I was just boasting last week to the nice nurse how well-controlled my asthma was, and I haven't managed a lungful of air since.

Still, I have been working regardless. Another seven pages today, coupla thousand words, yay me. Apparently I have to go into purdah to do this, which is a bit of a shame, but hey. People are over-rated. They give you colds.

I'd just opened a bottle of wine when the total headachy-misery thing descended on me. That's a whole bottle of wine, and I've barely drunk a glassful. Wine's no good when I'm in this condition; can't taste it, for a start. I did migrate onto the hot toddies, which do wonders for me. Still, there's a bottle of wine down there. Open. Undrunk. Someone might see.

Now I'm going to do that Japanese thing and get into a stupidly, stupidly hot bath. The kind that's so hot you don't dare move, y'know? I shall lie very still and turn pink and listen to The Amazing Maurice (not a Japanese thing, so far as I know) and hope to boil all these virii out of me.

'Scuse.